


My Accomplice, My Beloved

by PinkAfroPuffs



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Parties, Spoilers for Part 2, commission, lostbelt spoilers (mild), mentions of gordy and his wonderful cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: When all hope seems lost, it's best not to despair. After all, hope is the one thing providence provides for.So wait. And hope.
Relationships: Edmond Dantès | Avenger/Fujimaru Ritsuka
Kudos: 40





	My Accomplice, My Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for my dear friend xviicprc on tumblr! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! 
> 
> Now, I'm going to take a well-earned nap. Or maybe just pass out. Cheers!

Cyra Kuromaki wasn't one for parties. Truthfully, enjoying a game in a dark room or eating a good meal interested Cyra more than the idea of a party- especially after their trip down the mountain and into Void Space. If anything, a party seemed inappropriate. 

“Come on, Senpai, it’ll be fun,” Mash half begged. She was already dressed up in her personal party outfit, eyes shining with a kind of sweet but pitying look that Cyra tried not to hate.

She wanted to say that it wouldn’t be fun at all- after what had happened in the first lostbelt and then the second, even finding this new... _thing_ didn’t feel all that hopeful. Besides. She couldn’t stop thinking about someone who wasn’t there.

“Well, okay.” Cyra sighed, since Mash was a lot like her little sister, and she let her first Servant lead her out onto the dance floor.

The simulation that Holmes had set up over the room in the shadow border reminded her a bit of a ballroom; though she was still wearing her command code, Mash insisted, “Why don’t you change into something nice? DaVinci-chan made some new command codes for you, and they look more formal.”

Dressing up also wasn’t her favorite thing, but she could do that, too. Who knows? Maybe it would improve her mood a bit. 

Since stocking up on rations with Goredolf in the first Lostbelt, the Shadow Border seemed to have enough food for a feast and then some; various treats and sweet meats decorated the table on the far corner of the simulated room. 

Mash looked sort of sweet in her dress and hairpin; though Cyra had picked the dress DaVinci-chan had picked out and liked the _swoosh_ it made when it wrapped around her legs, she knew what was coming next. 

“Senpai, come dance with me for a minute. Goredolf taught me a few steps but I don’t think I’m not that good at them…” 

The dress- white with blue trim on the bottom with shoes to match- made her feel a little bit better (and so did some of the cake from the table, to be honest) so she waved Mash off and said, “You don’t have to be good at dancing to dance! Just dance!” The two joined hands for a few moments, and Mash showed her the steps.

One, two three. One two-three. Step forward, step back. One two- three.

“Is this a...what do they call it? A waltz?” She found herself asking between giggles. Bouncing around was sort of fun, like this.

“I think Director Goredolf did call it a waltz, yes!” Mash nodded vigorously, her cheeks a bit pink at the admission. This was clearly a new ordeal for her, and it was sweet to try to involve Cyra in it to cheer her up. “Though it’s a little faster I think.”

A waltz, huh… Her eyes lowered. Though she didn’t want to say it aloud, her normal partner wasn’t here. And for a dance like the waltz- a dance so romantic they put it in period dramas- would really suit him. 

Mash seemed to notice her dip in mood, so she quickly said, “U-Uhm, Senpai, why don’t we see if they can play something more upbeat? I-I’m done with practicing for now.”

She wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in her throat at first. Mash was trying, so why couldn’t she try a little bit harder? “No, it’s okay, let’s practice some more. You’ve gotten really good!”

So the two wiggled their hips together, and for quite a while, Cyra did have a good time. But it didn’t stop her from missing “someone”. It also would not bring him back.

* * *

Though the whole party hadn’t been terrible- Goredolf’s skills with kitchen knives made her think of Emiya in a way she didn’t know she was capable of- Cyra found herself thinking too much of her beloved. 

“Beloved”. What a silly thing to think. She grabbed her pillow and smushed it to her face, hoping to suffocate herself. Still. She missed him. Going several weeks without him like this, especially with all the strange injuries and terrain she’d been subjected to...she didn’t want to say it aloud, but Cyra Kuromaki was at her limit.

_“Has my accomplice given up so easily?”_

She sat upright in the little pill box she called a bed. Brown hair a bit messy from tossing and turning, she glanced at the door and waited for any more noise. None came. Still, she slid out of bed and pulled on her command code, down to her black boots, and quietly slipped out into the open space on the Shadow Border. 

_“Hm. Warm. You’re quite talented at this.”_

Echoes of laughter bounced around in her brain, and maybe the walls as she walked past them; hallucination or not, she was going to follow any traces of him she could get, so she found herself back in the simulated ballroom. Strange for it to still be up and running, especially with no one in the room- even Mash seemed to be sleeping, and though Cyra didn’t check the time, she assumed it was late. 

“ _Warm. You’re getting warmer._ ”

She sure was! Silly Count! Where was he? Even if this was just a dream, she would take whatever she could get-

“Hot.” A familiar voice murmured into her ear, and she looked up so quickly they almost collided together. 

Though her fingers were clad in black gloves, she still found her hands trying to memorize the material of his coat, his shirt, his cravat- but none of it was as familiar to her as she thought it would be. In fact, he was wearing a completely different outfit, one she’d never seen him in before. His cloak- though still dark- was the color of night, the inside embroidered with what looked like his black flames, purple like a poison sea made of fire; his hair was tied back in a ponytail and bound by a black ribbon, gloves white instead of black, and somehow felt reminiscent of a very handsome upper class man. His cravat was inlaid with gold accents, and as he gave her a smile, she noticed that in one gloved hand, he held a candelabra to illuminate them both in the dark, black fire dancing along its sticks. 

The King of the Cavern. Edmond Dantes. 

“Count,” she breathed. “You look different.” But good. Really good.

A smirk quirked at one corner of his lips- though it was not unkind. Though she hadn’t said it aloud, he seemed to have understood what she hadn’t told him. “I thought to dress up for the occasion. You’ve been waiting for a dance, have you not?”

He’d really gone all out, hadn’t he? The smell of expensive cologne wafted into her nose. Cyra blinked a couple of times, her brain reaching back to earlier that day- how she’d been thinking about waltzing with him in those pretty clothes as she practiced with Mash, how much she wished she had him to help her in the hell that was the lostbelts…

“Keeping a woman waiting for so long…” He clicked his tongue to himself. “In another time, I’d have been flogged for it! But no matter. Get dressed,” a grin quirked to one side of his mouth. “Unless you prefer to keep that on?”

Cyra wasted no time in sprinting back to her room and quietly putting her formal clothes back on before anyone could notice..

* * *

It was strange, sometimes, how some things can seem dreamlike but be real. Or maybe that was the point of this dream she was having. For it to feel real. It was all she could think of while dancing with her Count, his hands intertwined with hers in the dark, their faces only illuminated by dark candlelight as his humming took place of the music to keep pace with their steps.

_One two-three. One two-three._

“You’re doing well,” he said into her hair, and she was reminded once more of how tall he was. Flustered, she followed his lead as they glided across the floor of the confined space, somehow managing to make it feel like a real ballroom. Maybe in Chaldea it would have been an easier thing to imagine, or more effective- but here, on the Shadow Border, for once, she was not preoccupied with what could have been. Instead, she wondered what _was_.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Like how did he get here? When? How had he known she’d wanted to dance with him? Was he watching from wherever he was when she’d talked to Mash at the party? “Count,” she began, and he twirled her around with one hand, embracing her around the waist with the other.

“Yes, my accomplice?” He answered, and the two spun again, his soft hums bouncing across the room like an elastic ball. Amazing. Was there anything he couldn’t do?

“Count,” she repeated, though this time it sounded weaker, her eyes suddenly stinging, hands grasping about his for comfort. The lump in her throat- that before had been no larger than a pebble- was now almost too big to bear.

“Yes, my accomplice,” the Avenger answered like clockwork, though this time in a softer tone. 

“Where-” Tears threatened to stain her collarbone and dress, so she squeezed her eyes shut; in a moment of passion, she sucked in some air through her nose and then let it out. “Where were you? Where were you all this time?”

She needed to know. She had to. It was tearing at her like lions to meat, like flies on a carcass, and her brain was fraying at the edges. Had he been testing her again? To see if she was still worthy of being his partner? Was that all?

They’d stopped. The dancing, the humming, the twirling had stopped. They stood alone in the room together, illuminated by black flames, recycled air, and hope. Just hope.

For a moment he said nothing. Hands reaching down to cradle her face, he breathed her name in a voice so soft it could be carried off in the wind. “Cyra.”

She hiccuped, hoping that drawing breath slower would stop it, but it did not. Instead she focused on his hands, on his voice, on his smell, on him. Only on him. “I had to do it alone,” she told him through her hiccups. “I w-wanted….wanted you to be there-” 

He did not answer. Her hands cupped his own, the soft silk of his gloves against her skin giving her some semblance of comfort as she went on, “Where did you go? Why-”

“When the nights grow long and the days short,” he began, “there will always be monsters beneath your bed. Have you checked them? They grow fat on your fear.”

She closed her eyes, teeth biting into her lower lip. “I-I’m too scared.”

“Of the demons beneath?” His eyebrows pulled together before she shook his head, eyes closing. “No. You are scared of what you might find there.”

Her mouth pressed firmly shut. How could he always see through her? “Roman is gone,” she forced out. “DaVinci is gone. You were gone too,” only Mash was left and-

“No,” he snapped, his golden irises shining with passion. “As your shadow remains, I remain, my accomplice.” 

Did that mean he had been there the whole time? She savored his words, his fingers caressing her face to brush the tears from her eyes as she swallowed, forcing that lump in her throat to behave. For a while there was stillness. Maybe this was peace. When she did sniff a little, her tears were long gone, dried by his careful words. 

A small smile pulled at one corner of his lips, his eyes gentle but blazing with assurance, confidence that only Edmond Dantes could have. With one hand he brought her own to his lips, fingers intertwining with hers as he kissed their tips. “Have no fear, my beloved. Providence will have its way.” The smoldering flame in his eyes gave her hope. The grin- though somewhat cruel- on his lips gave her a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time. “It is a shame it never accounted for me.”

The candle flames went out abruptly. For a moment, Cyra only clutched him tightly in the dark, afraid of losing him again...but when the moment passed, she realized he was already gone. 

* * *

When Cyra came to, she realized she was back in her room. It was a strange feeling; after having such a detailed dream with no real punchlines, she thought it would be too much to hope it had been real. After all “it was only a dream” plots in stories were less than ideal, and really boring at the end of the day.

...wait.

Her fingers brushed against the creases of her dress. This wasn’t the mystic code she’d put on to brave the tundra in the first and second Lostbelts. It certainly wasn’t her pajamas either. And by the way she was still dressed… Why was she in the party clothing? Hadn’t she changed? Maybe she should ask Mash about it- stranger things had happened than sleepwalking and astral projecting. Though maybe the astral projecting was the strange thing.

Oh, but it was still dark. Dark and dismal, even in the small room that barely had any room for leg space or privacy. Cyra laid back down. It was alright. Having just a few moments with the Count was enough for her for now, and she could hold on a bit longer-

_“There will always be monsters under your bed.”_

She sat up suddenly. A very strange thought occurred to her, though she dare not give it pause, or even enough life to be disappointed if she didn’t find what she was looking for-

But still. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

After a beat, she bent over her bed and took a deep breath; in one motion, she looked down over the side of her blankets and then underneath it. A curious hand reached out into the darkness; shadows that belonged to her- and some not- caressed her hand like ocean waves. 

“Count,” she breathed, her eyes closing. 

_“Mm.”_ Came a response, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. The twinkle of golden irises inside the mass of smoke and shadows gave her pause, her chest warm enough to start a forest fire. Of course. How silly she’d been. Of course he’d always been there. She would apologize to Mash tomorrow for the way she’d acted- she wasn’t the only one trying to cope with things- and maybe Goredolf still had that nice coffee to share with the monster under her bed.

Cyra sighed peacefully to herself, head hanging over the side of the bed as she peered into the darkness and smiled. “Good night, Count.”

_“Good night.”_


End file.
